Rage, rage against the dying of the light

Image taken from my high rise apartment

It has been one of those sundays. Met a bunch of new people for lunch. Some interesting, some not, some just a little aggro for my liking. Almost all are ferven vegetarians, I know too many carnivores, would be nice to add a few of these folks into my to-know list. Maybe, maybe not. I am having one of those moody, unfriendly, socially ackward days.

Here's one of my favorite poems by Dylan Thomas, it always settles me whenever I am feeling a little existential and depressive. Hope it does the same for you.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-Dylan thomas, poet, died 1953.